Chasing the Dragon
by scrandle
Summary: Harry finds unexpected (and dubious) help before the first task. One-shot.


Harry Potter nervously grabbed the edges of his robes as he walked towards the stadium, butthole puckered in anxious anticipation.

He was about the face a dragon. A big dragon. A bloodthirsty, aggressive, rip you limb-from-limb kind of dragon.

Why didn't he just drop out and become a muggle? Sometimes magic just got to be too much...

His friends met him at the entrance of the champions tent. Ron had a sudden epiphany about the true value of friendship, some time around the first deafening dragons roar, and the first trickle of urine soaking the seat below him.

"Better you than me mate. And uhh, make sure it won't get back up."

Harry could only stare on in detached fear.

Ludo Bagman found him in the corner of the tent, shaking like a leaf. The Hungarian Horntail circled his feet, shooting up occasional puffs of blue fire.

"Ah, Harry! Just the man I was looking for! The task will start soon and I just wanted to make sure- hang on, what's wrong?"

A shock went through Ludo, seeing his champion money maker sitting and looking like death warmed over.

Harry made to answer-

"I...I-"

-And promptly threw up between his knees.

"Listen," Ludo squatted down to eye level, "I've got some stuff that might make you feel a bit better..."

He reached into the pack beside him and pulled out what looked like a muggle cigar, except three times wider. On the side it read 'Billy Wonko's chocolate sweatshop, grows bigger as you puff'.

He wheedled on, "Got it from the goblins and was saving it for our after party tonight, but I'm sure I can spare just a pinch." His following chuckle rapidly degraded into a cough as he noticed Harry giving him the thousand yard stare. Ludo could see his investment draining before his eyes, and took decisive action. He stuck the 'cigar' in Harry's mouth, lit it with a bit of wandless magic and promptly walked out, there being nothing more he could do.

"Better you than me, kid."

Harry stayed still and silent long after the man left. He didn't try to listen as he talked. Harry couldn't deal with any other bad news right now. He knew he should stay vigilant, Voldemorts agents could be anywhere, and yet he couldn't move his mind past it's frozen state of panic. Flashing though his mind at lightning speed were all the ways his plan could go wrong. His broomstick, catching fire in mid air. Tail spikes as long as spears devastating the unprotected stands before finally catching and gutting him. His spell completely failing and dying from embarrassment amid the laughter of multiple dignitaries and the whole school.

Harry decided dragon fire sounded like the best option.

That idea broke his dour thoughts, and Harry took a deep, shuddering breath-

-and erupted into a loud hacking cough, accompanied by a faint tinkling sound and a cloud of purple sparkles. His diaphragm twitched in indignation, and he looked around wildly for the source of whatever attacked him, surprised to see nothing in his general vicinity except for one thing. On the ground in front of him lay a what looked like the fattest roach in the world.

And at that moment, Harry knew exactly what to do.

Harry picked it up and looked at it hard and inhaled deeply, his muscles beginning to relax unwillingly. It didn't look like anything he'd seen in the movies, but then again, Harry thought, when did wizards ever create anything tempered and practical? He began to be glad of wizard excess as his heart rate began to noticeably slow, and took time to study the object in his hands. Glittering blue and red, embedded in dark green leaves stood out in his increasingly relaxed and hazed mind, and his last thought before taking another drag was, ' _Ahh, let's be honest I was buggered to begin with. might as well go out in style.'_

Some time later, an attendant ran up to the tent and opened the flap, expecting to usher Harry to first task. He did not expect the billowing, sparkling, grey and purple cloud to roll out down the path to the dragon pit, leaving an acrid stench and small crackles of electricity in its wake.

Harry ambled out of the stinking tent, looking at the world in a new light. Suddenly, a dragon didn't really seem like to big of a deal. Let problems sort themselves out, his newly adopted motto. Voldemort sounds like he just needs to _relax_. And as for a dragon, well, surely they can be reasoned with...

"Times up, let's do this!"

Unaware of his vacant thoughts, the crowd settled into a quiet murmur at the mysterious display. Whispers began to float around at the dramatic display. People glued Harry with their, awed by such an impressive demonstration of power. All except the Slytherins, who just rolled their eyes.

Harry inhaled again, and rubbed his eyes under newly tinted glasses ('when did that happen?'). Looking around, he noticed that the crowd had gone quiet, and that everyone was staring at him. "He-heyyyyyyy," he called out to no one in particular, and started to wave. Two minutes later, when murmuring began to pick up again in the crowds, he remembered that he was still waving, and slowly put his hand back down again. Across the stadium, Headmaster Dumbledore chuckled in nostalgic understanding, earning him a sharp look from Professor McGonagall. Nearby, the twins shared a knowing grin. "Brother-mine, we definitely need to have a chat with Ickle Harrikins if he survives," said a coy Fred.

Suddenly remembering another important thing (which was very surprising given his condition), Harry called out in a slow, measured voice: "Oy, isn't there supposed to be a dragon?"

At that pronouncement, a large scaly back began rising from the ground. What Harry once thought was a rock became a huge ribbed spine, topped with a jet black head towering thirty meters above him. Later, Harry would kick himself for the stupid assumption, but at the time it just seemed pretty funny.

"Huehueheheheheheheheeeeeeee!" Most of Gryffindor was torn between shock at the unmanly giggle that exited Harry, and respect at the audacity of laughing in the face of such a terrifying beast. Ginny just buried her head in her hands.

A piercing amber eye regarded Harry with interest from far above, contemplating whether it was worth the energy to kill him. Its scaly lid dropped down into a slow blink, coming to a brutal decision.

Harry regarded the magnificent creature in front of him, pondering the wisdom and grace such a being might posses. He took another puff. His mind flew away on the philosophical possibilities. How could he ever become worthy of the presence in front of him? He decided he had only one thing to offer.

"Ayyyy dragon! Catch!"

The joint reached its zenith and was caught easily between two ivory talons. By now, the roach had reached the size of a broom handle: perfect for a dragon.

The Horntail scrutinized the ganja with an expert eye and the air of a scholar. Everyone knows that the first growers were really the dragons. She gave a satisfied nod, deciding to spare the human just this once. The dragon took a deep breath then exhaled, and made history. Fire and smoke of every colour poured from her nostrils, enveloping the stadium in her own unique sweet and sour stench- an old family blend. The stadiums erupted into hacking coughs all around (except for those few experienced connoisseurs). The Dragon laid down its head and regarded Harry with one bleary eye, between occasional puffs of multi-coloured smoke dissipating in the air.

Harry skipped forward happily, collected the golden egg, and skipped out, whistling the tune of 'Puff the Magic Dragon' all the way.

From then forward, Harry looked back on the first task as the most relaxing day of his life.

No real drugs were used in the making of this crack fic, but I can assure you the events in my story would likely be much more compelling if Mr Wonko's PHAT™ Roach was the real life inspiration. Yeah, I know this was pretty uninspired and kind of bland- I chose this topic on purpose because I wanted something that wasn't too ambitious for my first fic. Thanks for reading.


End file.
